


Jijivisha

by CarminaVulcana



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Soulmates, Soulmates AU, inspired works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 16:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarminaVulcana/pseuds/CarminaVulcana
Summary: Devasena did not want a soulmate with a stammer. But then beautiful dreams of a dark stranger make her rethink.Sequel to Avani's beautiful story Atasa.I am so grateful that you allowed me to write a sequel to your story. You are my favorite author in the fandom and I am almost afraid of sharing this story. But hey, this is my fangirl moment. And I feel so honored that I will bite back my anxiety and go ahead and post this story.





	Jijivisha

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/gifts), [cassandor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandor/gifts), [queenofmahishmati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofmahishmati/gifts), [AllegoriesInMediaRes (AllegoriesInMediasRes)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Atasa](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644040) by [avani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avani/pseuds/avani). 



**I**

_S…s…Sivu_

The strange tattoo on the baby’s wrist puzzled the midwife. Was this… was this what they called a soulmark? Weren’t those things only ever found in stories and fables?

“Can I hold her?” Hamsa Devia asked. Her face was bathed in sweat after the long hours spent in labor. But a tired, satisfied smile graced her features.

“She is beautiful, your highness,” the midwife said and handed over the child to her mother. “But she has a rather peculiar tattoo on her left wrist. It cannot be a soulmark, can it? But then, what else could it be?”

The queen was hardly surprised.

“Have you ever seen what’s on my left wrist?” she asked. “The first words Maharaj ever spoke to me. I think it is wonderful that my daughter has someone destined for her as well.”

“But they don’t always find each other, do they?" skepticism oozed from the midwife's words. "And I have heard they die young if they do manage to get together.”

“That’s all superstition and nonsense," the queen had no patience for stupidity and her dismissive tone said as much. "Maharaj and I have been married for over 8 years and we are both healthy and well.”

“My apologies, my queen.” The midwife placed her hand upon the sleeping infant’s head. “May the princess find love and joy in her intended and may she live to be a hundred alongside him.”

“… or her,” the queen added.

“Her?”

“Of course. The soul has no gender.”

The midwife looked scandalized, but she was unable to ask anymore questions. Hamsa Devi also did not care to continue the conversation. She marveled at her newborn daughter’s sheer perfection. Her pert little nose. Her puckered pink lips. Her large eyelids framed by thick, feathery eyelashes.

“It is amazing how a little life can take root in a mother’s body and grow into such a magnificent blessing in just nine months. I think I love her more than I even love Maharaj.”

The midwife laughed. “You aren’t the first new mother to say that. And you won’t be the last. I bet you said the same thing when Jaya was born six years ago.”

“Did I? I do not remember.”

“What are we going to call her, Maharani,” Satyavati, one of her attendants asked.

“Devasena,” Hamsa Devi answered promptly. “This little girl of mine will embody the entire army of the Gods in her little finger. She will do her namesake proud.”

*****

“Will my soulmate be a stutterer?” Devasena asked for the tenth time. She pouted crossly at her mother. “I don’t want a soulmate who can’t even speak properly. And we don’t even pray to Lord Shiva. Why will he invoke him when we meet. I want someone who prays to Lord Krishna. His stories are much more fun.”

Hamsa Devi laughed. At four years of age, Devasena already had some very strong opinions. And like a true Kuntalan, she was unafraid of voicing them.

“Maybe his name will be Sivu,” she tried to placate her daughter.

“Then I will ask him to change it. I don’t like Sivu.”

“Sure, what will you call him then?”

“Sivani. I want a girl soulmate. Boys are gross.”

*****

Devasena grew up to be a sharp, quick-witted adolescent. Her twelfth birthday came with her first real sword and an armor of her own along with solid gold dancing anklets set in velvet for her arangetram.

Her lady-in-waiting for this first major event of her life, was a 16-year-old girl called Sivani.

The princess watched from behind the curtain as she readied her jewelry and clothing. Her long plaits were neatly tucked into buns atop her head and she moved rather gracefully for such a tall person.

She waited with bated breath for her to say something.

But to her utter disappointment, her first words to her were, “Your highness, it is time to do your hair for the evening.”

Joylessly, she sat down and allowed the older girl to braid her hair and dress her up. Thick kohl was applied to her eyes, golden threads were tied around her wrists and upper arms, and alta was applied to her hands and feet.

The arangetram went well too. Her teacher, Guruamma Dakshini Devi said she was proud of her. She was praised greatly for her performance of the Ganesha Kauthavam and the Mathe Malayadhwaja.

But she had hoped to meet her soulmate today. Alas, her hopes had not come to pass.

*****

Her eyes remained dry even as the heat from the twin pyres made her skin slick with sweat.

Like all other children, she had always taken her parents for granted.

And now, they were gone. Just like that; a gust of wind that blew away the precious twigs of her little nest in a heartbeat.

Her older brother, all of twenty years, stood next to her.

“I will always be here for you,” he whispered to his sister. Unlike her, his eyes were soaked with unshed tears and his voice carried the weight of the responsibilities that were now his alone to bear.

“I will be here for you as well, anna,” she responded and turned to look at him. “I promise.”

Jayasena smiled sadly. His sister was still a child and yet, here she was, offering the comfort of a grown up because they literally had no one left except for each other.

Oh, they had relatives. Uncles and aunts and cousins.

But ties of blood weren’t always the best measure of love or loyalty. They all had their eyes on the throne of Kuntala. And while Jayasena wasn’t a power-hungry man, he was unwilling to give up the kingdom so easily when his grandparents and parents had worked so hard to change its social fabric to a progressive one.

His uncle Santhamani would take it back to the dark ages. His cousin Jeethendra would see the women forced back into the kitchens, and the men back in the battlefield. The performing arts would suffer, and women dancers would again be reduced to paid pleasure slaves. Literature and music would lose their patronage. The taxes would rise yet again. And the trade of alcohol would once more become the chief source of Kuntala’s economic stability.

He would not allow it. And he would fight them if he had to.

*****

The fight came sooner than he had expected… in the form of a marriage proposal for his sister.

“How dare he,” Jayasena thundered. “The ashes of my parents haven’t even cooled yet and uncle is already up to his tricks.”

“Maharaj, what happens if we refuse?” his chief advisor, Skandajeetha asked.

“He will wage war against us,” the young king said stonily. “He will lead an army of rebels against us who believe Devasena and I do not deserve to rule this kingdom because we are too young and inexperienced.”

“Young and inexperienced?” said Kulashekharan, one of courtiers. “Does he not know that most kingdoms choose their kings around this very age?” Murmurs of agreement broke out among the people gathered for the meeting. Indeed, the courtier spoke the truth. 

“Yes but I was never formally chosen," Jayasena explained. "And that’s why, my claim to the throne is null and void in his opinion.”

“Then what will we do, milord?”

“We will go to war.”

“You will do no such thing,” Devasena stood up. She had heard everything quietly so far. But now, she had something to say. 

Even at such a young age, she was fully aware of her responsibilities. While she had absolutely no desire to marry her uncle, she also did not want Kuntala to fall into a cycle of endless and pointless bloodletting.

“Devasena, you stay out of this," her brother said. 

“No, I won’t," she stated obstinately. "Not when I can stop this war.”

“At what cost?”

“It does not matter. Amma and Baba are gone. I will not lose you as well.”

“And I won’t see you married to that excuse for a human being.”

“Then find another way. But Kuntala is not going to war, especially not when we are in mourning. Besides, you know what will happen if he wins. You will be killed and the kingdom will fall into his hands anyway.”

“I can’t just sit here and wait for him to get his.”

“We should try and talk to him.”

“This discussion is over," The finality in the king's voice left no room for a response. "I am going to the hall of conferences to meet with the army chief.”

“I will come with you," Devasena tried yet again. 

But Jayasena was in no mood to deal with her bullishness. 

“You will do no such thing," he said harshly. "Go back to your room.”

“But anna…”

“No arguments. Go back to your room.”

Crestfallen and scared, Devasena was forced to obey her brother’s order. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to do anything.

She was brave. She was strong. And she was the crown princess. It was her duty to keep the king safe.

And if it meant sacrificing the man who was meant for her, the man whose words glistened on her wrist, then she would do it.

But unbidden, images from her previous night’s dreams swam in front of her eyes.

_“I am yours, Devasena,” the words were gentle but they held such honesty in them. She believed him implicitly._

_Her hair fanned out over his chest and he held her close to his chest... so close that the rhythmic beating of his heart lulled her to sleep._

_He hummed softly as he chopped ginger for their dinner._

_A loud crash outside alerted her that something was off. But the pain in her belly intensified. The baby was coming._

She did not remember his face. The images themselves were fuzzy. But she cherished the warm glow of love and safety that had seemed to envelop her as she had slept last night.

Her heart hurt at the thought of giving him up for her old, conniving uncle.

But she would do it. It was her dharma.

*****

She spent two days preparing herself for what would inevitably be one of the hardest things she would ever have to do. Resigning herself to the idea of slavery—for that was what it was even if it was cloaked as marriage—was not easy.

But again, she reminded herself that this was for the greater good.

As she readied her horse for the journey to Santhamani’s palace, Janardan, the family’s oldest and most trusted manservant brought her some news.

“Yuvarani, Prabhu Santhamani has redacted his wedding proposal.”

“What?” she gasped, relieved at once but also suspicious—what had caused him to change his mind? It couldn’t have been a sudden moral awakening. There was not a moral bone in that man's body. 

“Maharaj’s will has been found among the things he left behind in his study," the servant answered. "According to that, the prince and you are supposed to share the responsibilities of the crown. He shall be responsible for all matters pertaining to military strategy, foreign policy, diplomacy, and economics. You are to handle agriculture, women’s issues, health and nutrition, and domestic law and order.”

Devasena was awed at her father’s farsightedness.

“When was the will composed?” she asked, still not daring to believe what she had just heard.

“Soon after your Langa Voni ceremony last year. Maharaj believed your talents would complement your brother’s greatly.” The old man's eyes softened as he said this. “Of course, he had never even imagined that this difficult bundle of duties would fall upon your shoulders so soon.”

Devasena did not know how to respond to that. So she asked a practical question.

“Has uncle withdrawn his proposal only because of the will?”

“Yes. A copy of the will was made and read out to him as well. It clearly states that you are not to be married before you turn 19 and that you cannot be betrothed to anyone without your explicit consent and approval. If he chose to go against the will, he would lose his monthly royal pension. And the people would certainly be up in arms against him.”

“Amazing. I am so grateful for this news.”

“You should organize a puja to thank the Gods.”

Devasena agreed.

A week later, a large thanksgiving ceremony was organized in the honor of Goddess Adi Shakti and her consort Mahadev.

While the priests chanted mantras and the people made offerings of milk and belpatra, Devasena remained distracted by thoughts of her mysterious soulmate.

This puja made her feel so close to him. It almost felt like he was here somewhere, lurking in the shadows.

Unbeknownst to her, at that very moment, he was bathing the Sivalingam at his gurukulam in observance of that month’s Sivaratri.

*****

 _“_ _Standing tall as palm trees but hiding among women: aren’t you ashamed of yourselves?”_ She was disgusted by the cowardice of the two strangers in front of her.

She did not see the way the younger man’s eyes flashed at her acidic reprimand. Nor did she see the glimmer of pure joy in the old man’s eyes.

All she could think of was that there was something not quite right about them. The old man was a crafty fellow for sure.

Devasena did not trust him—not one bit!

“My nephew is slow, and his family has kicked him out,” he said pitifully. “Maybe if you take him under your wing, he will find a way to survive in this harsh, cruel world.”

"Kicked him out?" Now she felt bad for him... and more than a little guilty for assuming the worst about him. It was hardly his fault that he was slow. She tried to rectify her mistake.

“He is well-built," she remarked. "With some sword training, he can be a doorman at the very least.”

Then she turned to him. “What is your name?”

“S…s…Sivu,” the tall, dark stranger answered. His stammer was rather pronounced but his voice was disturbingly familiar… and… and… wasn’t that the word on her wrist?

“No,” she let out a low, disbelieving moan.

“N…no?” Sivu gasped in surprise. “P…p…please, dear…de..dear pri…princess.”

She could not respond to him. She could not talk. She could not breathe.

She needed a moment to herself.

Without another word, she climbed back into her palanquin while Kumaravarma asked the two strangers to follow them.

**II**

Soulmarks were strange things. No one knew why some people were born with them while others were not.

She even worried that they were indeed cursed as the rumors went. After all, both her parents had perished relatively young and in the same unfortunate accident.

But she and her Amarendra had escaped that fate, hadn’t they?

What could possibly go wrong in exile. They were literally nobodies now. And like all the other common folk, they held no real power or prestige.

Surely, Sivagami Devi and Bhallaladeva wouldn’t come after them now.

“Thinking about the so-called curse again?” her husband’s deep sonorous baritone cut through her musings.

“Yes and no,” she sighed. “I am so happy right now, it is surreal. But I worry that this is just the lull before the storm.”

“What could possibly go wrong now?”

She smiled at how his words echoed her hopeful thoughts. 

But hope was fanciful. And it had a nasty sense of humor. 

“I will die if something happens to you,” she said earnestly and sat up. “Promise me you will never leave me.”

“Well, I don’t plan to leave you anytime soon but how can I promise something that is essentially in the hands of fate?”

“They call you an avatar of Rudra himself," she knew she was pleading but she did not care. This was important to her. "I will take your promises over a thousand assurances of the Gods themselves."

Amarendra could never get over how much faith his wife had in him. It was terrifying. But it was also gratifying. In this life of betrayals and failed connections, she would always be his anchor. And the chief cause for premature greying of his hair!

But this was no time for jokes. He took her hands in his own and gave her his word like he had done over a year ago in Kuntala. 

“Then I promise I will never leave you," he said and pulled her into a tight embrace, while remaining mindful of her delicate condition. She snuggled close to him and buried her face in his strong arms, satisfied and comforted that her sanctuary, her rock, and the love of her life, would always hold her close.

Somewhere in the sky, destiny wept at the hand she had been dealt. For once, she wished she could undo the turnings of time.


End file.
